


every knot you need

by growlery writes (growlery)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, WIP Amnesty, plot-relevant washing machines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery%20writes
Summary: "This is the first time I’m living on my own and my parents decided to spontaneously drop by in a few hours to see how I’m doing pls let me borrow some cleaning supplies and food so that my parents will believe I’m a functioning, responsible adult who totally cleans and doesn’t just have condiments and eggs in my fridge" AU





	every knot you need

Gwen doesn't always do her laundry at 2am, but when she does, there's inevitably someone having a crisis. Last time it was Gwaine, miserably failing to hide a panic attack, and Gwen sat with him and combed his hair with her fingers and now they get coffee in the union every Tuesday. 

Today, it's one of the guys who lives in the flat opposite hers – Arthur, she thinks his name is, vaguely remembers him from a flat party in freshers' week, enough to nod at him when they pass in the hall, anyway. He's sitting on the floor in front of one of the washing machines, holding what was presumably once a white shirt to his chest, a thousand-yard stare on his face. Gwen could just leave, come back later, but she can't help but remember Gwaine, the way he had shaken for a full half hour before he calmed down. 

“Um,” she says, stopping warily in front of Arthur, “hi? Are you okay?”

“The washing machine ruined my clothes,” he tells her, “hello.”

Gwen puts down her washing basket, runs a hand through her hair. “Did you separate whites and colours?”

Arthur frowns, clearly uncomprehending. Gwen sighs. 

“You've never done this before,” she says, “have you?”

Arthur lifts his chin, defiant. They had one conversation at the party, and it didn't get much beyond the standard _where are you from/what are you studying_ before Gwen made a hasty escape. She should've just left him here to have his crisis alone. Stupid Good Samaritan tendencies. 

“You can still fix it,” she tells him, as patient as she can be at two in the morning with entitled assholes. “If you put the clothes back in the wash with some Vanish, the colours will probably come out.”

“I don't need to fix it,” Arthur says, frowning. “I have other clothes. I can just _buy_ more clothes. That's not the problem.”

Gwen exhales very deeply. She really, really should've just left, but Arthur still looks just on the edge of hysterical, and, well. Good Samaritan tendencies. 

“What is the problem, then?”

“Why do you care?”

It doesn't sound like Arthur's trying to be rude. He just sounds confused, like the concept of a person wanting to help another person for no reason is genuinely foreign to him. 

“I don't,” she says, “but you're kind of sitting in front of the only decent washing machine, so.”

Arthur moves before she's finished her sentence, getting to his feet, and Gwen nods at him, moves to start emptying her clothes into the machine. All the other machines have either eaten her change or her clothes, and she's grown very attached to this one. 

She's counting out the money to start the machine when Arthur says, suddenly, “Father said I'd never manage living on my own.” He sounds very small, and when Gwen looks over at him, he's looking at the ground, hands fisted in the pockets of his expensive-looking jeans. “And he was right. I can't do this. He's coming to visit in the morning and he's going to see all the dirty dishes in the kitchen and the mess in my room and my ruined fucking clothes and know I'm a failure.”

Gwen starts the machine, and Arthur turns, sinks back down to the floor. He looks miserable. He looks like he might actually cry. 

"You're not a failure," Gwen says, going to sit next to him. "You're just, well." She tries to think of a way to say _posh and spoilt_ that's a bit more tactful, and settles on, "Sheltered. What time is your dad getting here?"

"Eight," Arthur says glumly, and Gwen nods. 

"Right. Let's go."

She gets up, looking expectantly down at Arthur until he gets up too. 

“Where are we going?"

“Your flat,” Gwen tells him. “I've got to wait for my washing to finish, anyway.”

"Are you- are you going to clean my flat?"

“Uh, no. I'm going to lend you cleaning supplies and you're going to clean your flat."

Arthur nods, looking chagrined as he gets to his feet too. "Right, of course. Thank you," he says, and he sounds so genuine, so grateful, that Gwen smiles back at him. 

“So what are you doing laundry at 2am for?” Arthur asks, as they head to their block. Gwen was expecting the walk back to be awkward, remembering their one and only conversation from the party, but it's easy to fall into step beside him, share the cold night air between them. “Except to be my knight in shining armour, of course.”

“Of course,” Gwen says solemnly. “I always do my laundry at 2am, in case there's a chance I might rescue a damsel in distress.” Arthur raises his eyebrows, and Gwen shrugs. “I'm only half-kidding. This is kind of becoming a habit for me.”

“So you're saying I'm not even special?” Arthur presses a hand to his chest, screwing up his face in mock-anguish. “You wound me.”

“I'm saying the laundry room seems to be a popular place for tragedy,” Gwen says, “and also, yes, of course you're not special. Rich boy who can't take care of himself? You're a walking stereotype.”

She shuts her mouth abruptly, feeling like she's crossed some kind of line, but Arthur just laughs. 

“True,” he says. “I don't suppose it'd help my case if I told you it's because I have a housekeeper at home.”

“Actually I'm surprised you don't have a fleet of servants,” Gwen says dryly. “But, yeah, that's pretty much the opposite of helpful.”

There's a brief scuffle over who gets to open the door to the building; Gwen wins, mostly because she had her keys out, ready, and holds it open for Arthur to walk through. It ends up a draw, though, when Arthur beats her to their floor and holds open the door to his flat for her. 

“I win,” he tells her, grinning, as he shuts the door behind them. Gwen shakes her head, but she's smiling back at him. 

The smile quickly drops off her face, however, when she takes in the state of the flat. 

“Wow,” Gwen says, “ _wow_.”

“It's not like my flatmates clean, either,” Arthur says, suddenly defensive. “Elena tries to, but mostly she just ends up making the mess worse.”

“Has anyone ever swept the floor,” Gwen says, unable to muster enough hope to make it a genuine question. At Arthur's squirrelly look, she sighs. 

“Wait here,” she says. “I might be a while.”

She leaves Arthur's front door on the snib, and comes back laden with all the cleaning products she owns, as well as a copy of the check list she made up for herself before she came to uni. 

“These are all the things that need to be done,” Gwen tells Arthur, handing him the check list. “I put stars beside the things which are vitally important. The rest should get done at some point, too, but you can tackle it some other time when your dad isn't visiting in a few hours. You should probably also talk to your flatmates about sorting some kind of rota. This place is a shithole, but it can't be all your mess.”

“You haven't seen my room,” Arthur says, and she doesn't know him at all, really, but the self-deprecating smile still takes her by surprise. 

“You still need a rota,” she tells him. “You can borrow this stuff until your dad leaves, leave it out somewhere so he can see what a responsible adult you are. Don't mix bleach and vinegar.”

Arthur nods. His face does something complicated, and then he says, “Thank you,” and steps forward to wrap her in a hug. His arms don't seem to know where to put themselves, and his chin digs into her forehead, but it's still kind of sweet. 

“No worries,” she says, and steps back. “Good luck with it all.”

Arthur gives her a mock-salute, and Gwen nods, and Gwen turns to leave, pretty sure she's all-Samaritan'd out, but he says, “Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I don't have any food that isn't microwavable,” he says, looking chagrined. “My father thinks I've been learning how to cook.”

Gwen sighs. “I'll bring you some basics.”

*

Gwen wakes up late the next morning. She has work tomorrow, morning and afternoon shift so she can top up the loan that doesn't even cover her rent, so this is her only chance to sleep in this week. 

When she finally drags herself out of bed, she nearly trips over a bouquet of flowers on her way out of her room. Frowning, she squats down, picking them up so she can read the note that's attached. It's short, simple, just _Thank you_ , written in neat cursive, and below that, _Arthur_. More than a little bemused, she brings the flowers to the kitchen with her, meaning to put them in a vase – or, more likely, something plausibly vase-shaped – but when she pushes open the door, Merlin's sitting at the table. He's got his laptop open, but he pauses whatever it is he's watching when the door opens and looks round at her.

“Morning,” she says, hurrying quickly to the sink, and Merlin returns the greeting. He's probably her favourite flatmate, though she'd never tell any of them that, but she still really doesn't want to have this conversation. 

Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be an option. 

“So who's Arthur?” Merlin asks, smiling innocently at her. He must've found the flowers outside the flat's front door and left them in front of hers. Gwen sighs heavily. 

“Arthur from across the hall,” she tells him, which doesn't seem to make things better for her; Merlin looks delighted. “He was having a crisis in the laundry room last night and I helped him out.” Merlin waggles his eyebrows at her, and Gwen sighs again. “Not like that, fuck off.”

“Pretty boys having crises are wasted on you,” Merlin says, shaking his head mournfully. Gwen just arches her eyebrows at him. He's been one of those boys; she took him back to their flat and made them both dinner and after he'd done the dishes, he'd crawled into her bed and they'd cuddled while marathoning Leverage. “What did you do, then?”

“Nothing to warrant flowers,” Gwen says. “Arthur is just a ridiculous person.”

Merlin makes a humming noise, like he doesn't exactly disagree with her, but also doesn't believe her. He does, however, leave the subject there, and she brings her bowl of cereal around to the table to sit next to him. 

The doorbell rings halfway through the next episode, and since Merlin's up pouring himself a glass of water, he goes to get it, and Gwen hits pause. It's probably just Gilli, forgotten his keys again. 

It's not Gilli. 

“Hello, Gwen,” Arthur says, as he follows Merlin into the kitchen. Merlin is smirking at her. Gwen doesn't blush; she has nothing to blush about, no matter what Merlin's eyebrows seem to think. “My father just left, and I wanted to return the things you gave me.” He's holding two large Waitrose shopping bags, one in each hand. Gwen goes to take them from him, but he frowns, holds them back. “They're quite heavy.”

“I'll manage,” she assures him, and hefts the bags up onto the counters. 

“I'll help,” Merlin says, starting to empty the bags before Gwen can tell him she can do it herself. He is far too entertained by whatever's happening here. Gwen takes back what she thought, earlier, about him being her favourite flatmate. He's the worst.

“I'll replace everything I used,” Arthur says. There's something weird in his voice, but she's got her back to him, crouching to put the cleaning supplies back away under the sink, so she can't determine what it is. “I used some of your food. I can make you dinner to make up for it, and to say thank you.”

Merlin covers his sudden laughter, badly, with a cough. Gwen is still not blushing, because this is clearly part of Arthur being a ridiculous human who doesn't understand how kindness works, and is over-compensating for his gratitude. He bought her _flowers_ , for Christ's sake. 

“You really don't have to,” she says, doing her best to ignore Merlin, still snickering beside her. 

“I know, I want to,” Arthur says, painfully earnest. He must pick up on her awkwardness, because he adds, “Unless you don't want to, of course.”

“Dinner would be great,” she assures him, facing him to make sure he knows she means it. “I love not having to cook.”

Arthur breaks out into a grin that makes Gwen really regret turning around. He takes her details so he can contact her, then hovers in front of her, awkward, for a second, before giving her a brief hug. 

"That," Merlin says, when the door has shut behind him, "was _adorable_.”

Gwen just sighs. 

*

Gwaine's already in the cafe of the student union when Gwen gets there, two coffees on the table in front of him. Gwen winds her way around the tables to get to him, smiling from under the scarf still wound tightly around her neck. It's freezing cold outside, and not a lot warmer inside the poorly insulated building. 

“Hey,” she says, pulling out her purse to count out money for the coffee. Gwaine waves a hand, and Gwen wants to insist, but she also doesn't actually have any change on her, and she knows what she'll find if she goes to the cash point to withdraw money. He got her a large instead of the small she usually gets, and Gwen hides her face in it like she can hide her embarrassment, too. “I'm buying us drinks next time, then.”

Gwaine shrugs. “Pretty sure I still owe you for the last time we went out drinking,” he says, which is definitely untrue, if Gwen's buying people drinks she doesn't expect to be paid back, and that goes double if it's Gwaine she's buying drinks for, but she smiles at him, and he smiles back, soft. “How's your week been, anyway? I hear you were playing the hero again.”

“Whatever Merlin's told you is a gross exaggeration,” Gwen tells him immediately, and Gwaine laughs. 

“I tend to assume that,” he says. “I figured he made up the part about the guy buying you flowers, at least.”

Gwen makes a face. “Oh, no,” she says, “Arthur did actually buy me flowers.”

Gwaine's eyebrows go up. “Oh,” he says. “I see.”

“It's not like that,” she says, and isn't sure who she's trying to convince. “He's just- very strange about this sort of thing.”

Gwen doesn't say that Gwaine should really understand; his parents are rich, like Arthur, but that was part of Gwaine's laundry-related panic attack, and she's not going to be so callous as to bring that up just so she can prove a point. She doesn't need to, anyway. Gwaine just nods, taking her at her word, and Gwen smiles at him. 

Except then she glances across the room, and realises Arthur's just come into the union, is hovering at the cafe till. Their eyes meet, and he gives her a brief smile before turning away to pick up his drink. Gwaine frowns, turns around to see who she's looking at. 

“And who's _that_?”

“That's Arthur, actually,” Gwen says, as blithely as she can, and Gwaine swivels around to smirk at her. 

“What else was Merlin not exaggerating about, then?”

Gwen sighs. Her friends are the _worst_.


End file.
